“Embarrassed you got caught?” Illias teased, locking the door while he took off his shoes. “You don’t have to be.” He headed to the kitchen but continued to speak, voice raised, “I thought it was hot. Walking in, seeing you touch yourself to photos of me. Maybe you should take that album back with you, consider it part of…” his voice became muffled as he spoke into the pantry. Illias turned around, box in hand, then walked back to the living room. He presented it to Cantrell with a small smile. “Happy birthday.”
“You…how did you…” Cantrell’s mind struggled to comprehend the situation at hand, stalled by the very fact he had forgotten his own birthday.
“There’s a calendar at Saint Anthony’s with birthdays on it. I was going to wait until next Tuesday but you’re here now and it’s your actual birthday, so here you go. I was going to bake a cake and do dinner, but you know,” Illias shrugged, “shit happens.”
“Thank you, but—”
“Oh my God,” Illias groaned, rolling his eyes. “Take the box and open it, my arms are tired.”
Cantrell refrained from chastising Illias about using the Lord’s name in vain. He took the box from Illias, eyebrows rising at the weight of it. He sat aside the album to make room on his lap then sat the box down and began to peel the wrapping paper. “Illias,” he gasped when he saw the label on the box.
“I hope you like them,” Illias said, rubbing the back of his neck. Cantrell removed the lid to reveal the polished black leather boots inside. “I thought maybe—I don’t know, I can return them if you don’t like them.”
“No,” Cantrell blurted. “I mean. They’re perfect,” he looked up at Illias, “you’re perfect. Thank you.”
Illias perked up. “Would you like to try them on?” He took a step closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I can put them on for you.”
“Go ahead,” Cantrell said, relaxing into the recliner, “get on your knees for me.”
Illias sank to his knees then took the box from Cantrell’s lap. He carefully removed the first boot. Loosened the laces with a reverent tenderness. Slowly, Illias cupped the back of Cantrell’s heel and lifted his foot. Slid the boot on and over his tapered slacks. Nimble fingers tightened the laces, tied them into a perfect bow. Illias repeated the process for the other boot, with the same care and slowness. The boots hit mid-calf on Cantrell, making them taller than the battered ones he owned. Soft candlelight reflected off the smooth polished surface of the leather.
Illias gave Cantrell a heated look, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to his leather-clad calf. Arousal shot through Cantrell like electricity, setting every fiber of his being on fire and pushing him fully into a headspace he thought he’d lost. Cantrell leaned forward, fisted Illias’ hair and pulled his head back. “Did I give you permission to kiss my boots, pet?”
“No, Sir,” he gasped, leaning into Cantrell’s fist, eyes blown with need.
“How do you ask?” Cantrell asked, knowing how desperately they both needed this. Needed to step back from the world for just a moment and indulge in one another. Consume one another.
“Please, Father.” Illias’ tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “Please, let me kiss your boots. Let me show you how much I worship you.”
Cantrell tightened his grip in Illias’ hair, causing him to inhale sharply. “Say it again.”
“I worship you,” Illias repeated breathlessly. “I’d kiss the ground you walk on if you asked. Lick your boots clean. Whatever you asked.”
Searing lust ran through Cantrell’s veins. Made him heady with want and need. “Go on then.” He released Illias’ hair. “Show me.”
Illias bent at the waist, kissing the top of Cantrell’s boot. Arousal pulsed through him as Illias’ warm tongue and mouth moved across the leather in a wanton display of devotion. Slicking the leather with saliva with every pass of his tongue. Conjuring images of what else Cantrell could use such a sinful mouth for. Illias kissed along Cantrell’s calf, inching closer to the edge of the boot then trailing back down. Illias pressed a kiss to the toe of each boot, then to each calf right at the edge of the leather. He looked up at Cantrell, eyes holding nothing but pure devotion, and kissed the inside of Cantrell’s right knee before resting his head against the left. It was unholy the way Illias made Cantrell want so viciously. Made him want to ruin Illias for anybody else.
“What is it, pup?” Cantrell asked, wanting to know exactly what was going through Illias’ mind. Illias’ face reddened as he sat back, spreading his knees apart. Putting himself on fulldisplay. Cantrell’s gaze dropped to Illias’ crotch, bulge straining against his jeans. Bringing his eyes back up to Illias’ face, Cantrell asked, “Is there something you want?”
“Please,” Illias whimpered.
“Use your words and ask properly,” Cantrell ordered, a devious smirk on his lips as he pressed his foot against Illias’ crotch. Illias sucked in a breath, blush worsening. Cantrell carefully twisted his foot against Illias’ cock, making him whine and curl forward. “Speak, pup.”
“Please, let me show you how much I worship you.” He grabbed Cantrell’s foot, grinding against the sole. “You don’t have to touch me, just let me worship you.”
“A very tempting offer, pup, but you’re going to have to earn the right to sacrament if that’s what you're after.” Sinful delight at using such a sacred act to allude to something much more depraved curled in Cantrell’s core. “I want you to beg for it like a good boy. Then maybe”—he twisted his foot, drawing another pitiful noise from Illias—“I’ll use your pretty mouth.”
Illias whined, grinding against the sole of Cantrell’s boot. “God, please, Father. Wanna taste you so bad, please. Wanna feel you in my throat. Can’t stop thinking about it.” His breathing deepened. “Can’t stop thinking about you fucking me. God, I want that so bad. Wanna feel you spread me open on your cock. Fuck, please Father. I’d make such pretty noises for you.”
“Such a greedy little pet,” Cantrell mused, dropping his hand to his crotch and palming himself through his slacks as he watched Illias. “I could watch you like this for hours, grinding against my boot like a mutt in heat.” The sentence drew a high-pitched whine from Illias. “I bet you could cum like this, couldn’t you, pet? Think you can cum just from me talking to you as you hump my boot?” he taunted. “Come on, pup, speak.”
Illias whimpered. “I would for you. I would do anything for you if you asked. But, fuck, please, Father, use me.Please, useme,” his voice was higher than Cantrell expected it to be. “I need you to ruin me.”
“God, you beg so pretty,” Cantrell groaned. He unfastened his slacks, pulling his aching cock free. He removed his foot from Illias’ lap and stood. “Open your mouth pup,” he ordered. Illias opened his mouth and looked up at Cantrell. “Hoc est corpus meum,” he said in mock sacrament as he slid himself into Illias’ warm, wet mouth.
Illias took every inch until his nose was buried in salt and pepper pubes. He moaned around Cantrell’s cock, sending a wave of pleasure through him. Cantrell groaned through clenched teeth. Knotted his fingers in Illias’ hair and held him in place, terrified of coming too quickly after finally allowing himself to indulge in what he had dreamt of for months. Cantrell wanted to savor this, draw it out for as long as possible. The sight of Illias on his knees with his mouth full was picture worthy. Cantrell’s hips jerked at the thought of a picture like this being somewhere in the album. Jealousy winding through him when he imagined another man in his place.
“Is there a photo of you like this in your album?” Cantrell asked. Illias’ eyes flashed up to Cantrell’s face. “There is, isn’t there?” He drew his hips back until the tip of his cock rested on Illias’ lips.
